


Little Johnny Marston

by arthurmarston



Series: One-shots [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arthur's journal has secrets, Big bad Arthur morgan, Bisexual John Marston, Bottom John Marston, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom Arthur Morgan, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Minimum spoilers, Porn With Plot, Smut, Top Arthur Morgan, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), dutch loves his sons, implied earlier in timeline, john Marston tries to be tough, self contained timeline, strays from plot, things are good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthurmarston/pseuds/arthurmarston
Summary: Arthur Morgan is the prized bread-winner for the Van der Linde Gang. Everyone seems to bow at his feet, everyone except for John Marston. Arthur takes full advantage of this, constantly taunting John and causing as much hassle as he can.On one particular day, John finds himself in possession of Arthur’s secret journal and he can’t wait to go through it. But what he finds... well...*This is my first time posting here, hi everyone! I have been here for awhile, and just recently felt it was time to make an account and post my first story here about everyone’s two favorite boahs. :)In the midst of my writing of this, I discovered two things I found amusing: 1, gun oil contained way less harmful ingredients back then and was commonly used by cowboys for fun times. 2. Blowjobs were pretty taboo and not really common. So I tried to keep it as period-appropriate as possible.This story contains minimum spoilers and is basically just a self-contained story of an implied time of when things were going good. There’s no mention of a particular camp, so feel free to make your own assumptions. :)





	Little Johnny Marston

“Little Johnny Marston.”

Those three words rang on repeat throughout everyday, every nightly camp gathering, every heist... every single day. It was like he couldn’t escape them, nor the man himself that constantly had to utter them. Arthur fucking Morgan. The prized champion of the Van der Linde gang, Dutch’s favorite ‘son’ as he liked to constantly say. It stung like dirt and gravel ground into a wound every time John heard it. 

It had gotten to a point where others in the camp had begun chanting it to the younger man - he’d wake up and someone was instantly saying it, smirk on their lips, a chime to their voice. 

The person that had just so happen to say it first this current morning was Uncle, a bottle of whiskey already tightly grasped in his hand and a small smile on his face. 

“Uncle, c’mon, not you, too. I thought you was better than that.” John groaned, rubbing at his eyes as he attempted to make a beeline for the coffee Pearson always brewed for the gang. 

“Never assume,” Uncle laughed, but he didn’t pursue the conversation and continued on his way to rest against the tree overlooking their current camp, John relieved to a degree. 

As he poured himself a small amount of the black coffee, he glanced around in hopes of avoiding the usual banter and attempted to find himself a nice spot to sit, next to Abigail, Sadie, and Dutch himself. The three were talking amongst themselves, Abigail the first to acknowledge John with a pat on his thigh as he sat. 

“Son,” Dutch said warmly to John. John nodded back appreciatively, almost like a puppy responding to praise. Dutch’s approval always caused a swell of pride to form in his chest, and he sipped at his coffee in peace. 

That was until Arthur arrived on horse at the opposite end of camp, hopped off the beast, and then sauntered over immediately to slap mockingly at the back of John’s head, as if on command. “Little Johnny Marston’s awake.” He smirked as he handed a stack of cash over to Dutch.

“Found these two thugs on horseback carrying a small safe and thought I’d collect our share.” Arthur chuckled, while John scowled. 

The gang leader completely ignored what had just happened with John, instead he stood and embraced Arthur, shouting out, “Always doing good, my son!” And gave him a hard squeeze to his shoulders, something John felt the absence of almost instantly. 

“What you lookin’ at, boy?” Arthur asked in a growl as he broke away from Dutch and caught John’s eye on him. 

John didn’t look away, instead furrowed his brows and growled. “I’m not lookin’ at nuthin’ - we was enjoying our morning til you came ‘round.” 

“Was you?” Arthur asked, brow raised as if he cared. 

John went to stand, Abigail grabbing his arm to stop him and Dutch sighed. 

“Men. You two are men. Act like it.” 

John resisted the urge to exclaim the usual ‘he started it’ and swallowed the words down along with his anger. 

“You’re right, Dutch, my apologies. It’s just that... someone has to tell John to shower or he won’t do it.” Arthur chuckled, reaching to rustle his fingers through John’s hair, taking some of the strands tightly into his fist, but quickly letting go. 

“Get off me, Arthur!” John yelled out, raising a hand to swat Arthur’s much larger, much stronger hand away from his face. He was blushing like a Valentine whore. 

Dutch sighed out, obviously exasperated by the childish behavior, but saying nothing else on the matter. 

Arthur shrugged and began walking away, all the while the embarrassment flourished within John. He wanted to do something about it - but he couldn’t think of anything. He was drawing a blank, instead feeling an intense heat along his face that grew more and more. 

“Oh, John, stop worrying about him.” Sadie finally broke the newfound silence, to which John rolled his eyes. 

“I weren’t worrying about him.” 

“Yes you was.” 

John didn’t respond, instead choosing to stand up and walk away, spilling out his coffee as he left and tossing the mug in the direction of the other dishes as he passed Pearson’s camp setup. So what if he was constantly thinking about Arthur? So what? 

“Mister Marston, I’m not your maid.” Miss Grimshaw bellowed as she witnessed the mug rim the tin container and fall out to the floor. 

John groaned as he turned back to grab the mug and properly place it into the container, making eye contact with Miss Grimshaw. “Sorry, Susan.” He said quietly before going to grab his rifle and start his watch shift early. Maybe Dutch would appreciate that. 

—

It was around noon now and John was beginning to sweat from how intense the summer heat was. He’d shimmied off his jacket in attempts to cool down, but facing in the direct direction of the sun wasn’t exactly helping the situation. He tried his best to ignore the overwhelming heat, marching back and forth along the south perimeter of the camp’s borders, rifle gripped tightly between both hands, palms white from how firm his grasp was. 

There hadn’t been any intruders for weeks now, and yet the anxiety of the task always made John take it as seriously as the last shift. Half of it was wanting to simply please Dutch and the other half was wanting to have the first shot if necessary. 

He could just see it - an intruder would sneak up on them and he’d be on guard and he’d just have the gun barrel tipped a little too low and Arthur would come from out of nowhere and put a victorious bullet through the enemy’s head, stealing away the chance from John like always. The camp would throw a parade and they’d all bow at the older man’s feet. He shuddered at the thought. 

Why was Arthur so perfect? He never did anything wrong. Never. He had a perfect smile, a perfect body, the hair... everything. Not to mention his face hasn’t been mauled by a pack of wolves up in the mountains. Nothing John did could compare. 

“Being useful?” The words caught John off guard, of course, and he visibly startled as he turned around. 

“Fucking Arthur.” John hissed out, voice deep as always. 

Arthur smiled and approached him closer, John instantly raising the rifle in his direction. “Who said you could call me that, anyway? You should be calling me Mister Morgan like the rest of camp.” 

“Get lost, Arthur.” John stressed the man’s name now, pressing the tip of the gun against Arthur’s belly, creating a distance between them but failing to intimidate Arthur. He could swear he felt Arthur push back against the weapon. 

“Mister Morgan. Don’t make me tell you again.” 

“Don’t make me shoot you.” John scoffed back, standing his ground though he was sure Arthur could sense the anxiety rising within him. 

“You don’t have the balls.” Arthur laughed out now, giving John a moment before grabbing the tip of the rifle with his one palm and ripping it from the man’s grasp like it was a toy. 

“Hey!” John gasped, stepping backwards as the gun was now facing him and he was suddenly feeling a lot less brave. He reached for the gun on his belt, hands fidgeting to remove it from the holster. 

“Relax, boy. I ain’t gonna shoot you, shit.” Arthur laughed and instead tossed the rifle to the grass, towards the start of the river that was just below the hill the camp overlooked. John didn’t dare take a step. 

Arthur smirked. “What’s wrong?” He asked playfully, then immediately gasped as if he’d made some new revelation. “Oh, yea. Forgot you was a aquaphobic.” 

John furrowed his brows, “a what?” He began before he realized what Arthur had said. 

“Forgot you was an idiot, too.” Arthur laughed, earning a shove from John and catching himself from going completely off balance. “Watch it, boy.” He threatened now, face straight and no longer smiling.

“Why are you always so mean to me?” John finally asked, cheeks red. He felt childish even saying those words. 

“Because someone needs to put you in your place, Little Johnny Marston.” Arthur taunted, hands smoothing down his shirt to straighten it out from when John had shoved him. 

“Stop calling me that.” John groaned an empty threat. 

“Whatever you say.” Arthur waved him off and then he finally turned to leave. . 

John’s heart was pounding as he stood completely still, watching in case Arthur came back around. He waited for what felt like hours before he shyly went and collected the rifle that was lying next to the river. John couldn’t swim, sure, but he wasn’t afraid of the water. Fucking hell. And yet Arthur... he was. 

When he began walking his way back up to the top of the hill, he felt his boot kick up against something in the dirt. John glanced down curiously, spotting the familiar journal he always saw Arthur clutching to his side. Always writing in it, always sketching in it. Protecting it like an unborn child. John’s facial expression softened, eyes darting around for a sign of the devil himself, before quickly picking the leather book up and clasping it against his body. Considering he took his jacket off earlier, John’s immediate thought was to shove it into his pants. Arthur would rip his face off if he saw this, but John was determined to keep this secret hidden for as long as possible. He shoved it right into his waistband, the booklet somewhat conforming to his hip and thigh. He’d have to finish his shift like this. 

For all he knew, maybe this journal would have enough dirt on Arthur to ruin the man’s life. He’d never bother John again. It was the perfect solution. He had to hold onto it and he couldn’t let Arthur know. 

—

After another few hours on guard, Bill finally came over to relieve John of his duty, and the man sped off as urgently as he could, wanting to avoid all chances of seeing Arthur. 

“Whatever, don’t thank me.” Bill scoffed, taking over the rifle as John ran towards his and Abigail’s tent. 

He didn’t know if Arthur had yet realized his journal was missing and he wasn’t about to be in the direct line of destruction when Arthur finally figured it out. He escaped without watchful eyes, going right into the shelter and closing off the flaps, using the rope attached to tie it shut. That way whoever needed the hint that he didn’t want to be disturbed, got it clear as day. 

John sat with a heavy sigh, laying himself flat momentarily to dig his hands into his pants to slip out the journal. 

“Pa?” Jack asked suddenly from the dark corner of the tent, John gasping out loudly and pulled his hand away. 

“Jack!” He whispered out, panic in his voice as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t of. 

“What’re you doing?” The small boy asked his father, smiling. 

“Oh. Oh... Just tired.” John said awkwardly, adjusting the band of his pants, groaning as the journal dug into his thigh. “Can I sleep? Is that okay, Jack?” 

“That’s okay.” Jack mimed back, getting up now to kiss his father on the cheek, and then escape from underneath the tent. John felt weird as ever with Jack acting like that. He certainly wasn’t father of the year. Not by a long stretch. 

He waited silently to confirm Jack wasn’t coming back before he resumed his task of undoing his pants momentarily and laying back to slip the journal out of his pant leg. He groaned in relief as he slipped the book out, a victorious grin on his lips as he held out the one thing he now suddenly had over Arthur Morgan. 

“Fucking hell.” He mumbled as he flipped it over in his hands, studying the exterior as if too afraid to dive into it just yet. It didn’t feel real. It was as if he held the key to the world in his hands.

“Let’s see what goes on in your head...” He murmured to himself as he finally pried the book open, unclasping the front and gently opening it to the first page. It was dated back to 6 months ago, telling John this obviously was one of many different journals Arthur kept considering he’d seen the man writing in one for years. 

‘Eucalyptus’ was all it said at the very top, followed by a drawing of the plant. John furrowed his brows. 

“So far, not very exciting.” He said quietly to himself, a hand coming up to push his hair back behind his ear. He flipped through a couple pages, coming across various well-drawn images of different animals, plants, and sceneries. Nothing all that exciting and yet weird to even associate with Arthur. This was definitely his journal, right? 

He kept shuffling through the pages, finding small blurbs about Arthur’s daily life and random encounters the man had on his journeys. 

‘Met a woman today who fell off her horse and the thing abandoned her on the trail. Took her back into town. She gave me a hug just for doing the right thing. Strange.’ John read the words silently in his head, almost amazed because the Arthur he knew wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire. 

It had begun to feel like this journal was pretty useless, considering each page was practically the same scribbles. John was just about to close the book and call it a wash when he suddenly came across a page that struck a pang in his chest. The date was three months ago and centered right in the middle in a loose script was the words ‘Little Johnny Marston.’ 

John was confused, eyes blinking rapidly as if he’d imagined it. But no, it was there, written in elegant pen. He flipped the page, eyes going wide as he saw what was a rather expressive sketch of himself lounging against a tree. He had no clue when the moment was from, but it was definitely him. His long hair, his hat, even the scars on his face. All of it was there. Even the way his legs were crossed. Arthur had drawn him perfectly. 

He turned the page, swallowing hard. 

‘John.’ The next page said, his name written beneath another drawing of himself, this time a portrait of him eating. He felt so confused and embarrassed. How did Arthur even have time to make these? When did he even do this? John had never even realized. 

He kept going, each page another drawing of him and another variation of his name written in a beautiful script he couldn’t ever replicate. His heart was pounding. He paused his racing fingers on a paragraph. 

‘There’s nothing quite like John Marston. He’s like this horse begging to be tamed. A constant fool. Always making me correct him. Always needing my guidance.’ 

John wanted to throw the book. “Always needing his guidance?” He spat back the words he’d just read, pulse racing audibly in his ears. He didn’t know if he truly wanted to keep reading and yet he couldn’t bear to look away. 

The next page sunk a hole into his stomach. It was a photo of him - though it wasn’t anything he’d ever been doing. It was him, sure, he could tell. Arthur had drawn him on his back, crudely, without a shirt and with his hands tied up above his head. 

He turned the page. The next drawing was him with a bandana tied around his head and in his mouth like a gag. 

The next was him naked and on his knees, face colored in dark to express exasperation and a hint of a blush, sort of the way he looked right now. He felt a strike of fear course through him as he kept going and there were just more and more drawings of him, each one more inappropriate than the last. 

Suddenly, the curtain to his tent pried apart, light pooling in and causing John to gasp out, embarrassed and slamming the book shut and going to sit on it. 

“What are you doing?” It was Arthur. Big and scary, face straining as he looked down at the man sitting on the mattress beneath him. John swallowed hard. 

“What are you talking about? You’re in MY tent. Get out.” John said, desperate. 

Arthur looked him over, eyes narrowed. “You have something of mine. I’m not fucking dumb, Marston. You ain’t smart.” He growled, looking around the tent. John’s heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he swore it was going to explode. He imagined Arthur could hear it. 

“I don’t have nuthin’, Arthur. Go away.” 

“Give it back.” 

“Give what back?” 

“Stop playing god-damn dumb!” He yelled out, raising a hand and John cringing in anticipation because this wouldn’t be the first time Arthur hit him. 

He pulled the journal out from under him and held it out as a peace offering. John’s face was scrunched up as he whimpered out, “I didn’t read it. I didn’t. I swear.” He felt pathetic, never once looking up. 

Arthur was confused now. He’d expected John to be handing back his hunting knife, not his journal. When did THAT go missing? He yanked the book from John, causing a hiss from the younger male below him. 

“You took my journal, Marston?” He accused and John continued to hide his face. He was getting red now. Red because he knew why Arthur was hiding it all this time. Red because of what he saw. 

Everything clicked suddenly. Arthur knew what John had saw. Knew he knew. He had no shame. Instead, he smirked. “You look embarrassed. I wonder why. What did you see?” He cooed out, taunting John. 

“Nothing. I didn’t. Nothing... I didn’t look.” He was stuttering on his words, trying to make some form of a valid excuse. “I was just holding onto it. Jack found it. I was gonna give it back. I didn’t look.” 

“You didn’t look, but,” Arthur snickered as he held it out to John, “the flaps not closed. And I never don’t close it.” 

“I didn’t-“

“You did.” Arthur suddenly snapped, tossing the book and stepping over John, each boot sinking in on either side of the younger’s hips, causing John to fall back in fear, now stuck between Arthur’s feet and looking up at him. Arthur was gonna beat the ever-living shit out of him and this was gonna be the way he died. 

He was so obviously flinching and he felt pathetic staring up at Arthur now. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m sorry.” He tried to apologize but Arthur didn’t budge. 

“Mister Morgan. Say it.” 

John frowned, still anticipating the older’s fists. “M-Mister Morgan.” 

Arthur loosened his collar, the steel toed boots digging in harshly into John’s sides, preventing him from escaping. He wouldn’t dare pull a gun on Arthur again. The older man licked at his lips, as if staring down and stalking his prey. John felt exposed. “What was your favorite drawing?” He asked suddenly, making John gulp. 

“I... what...?” 

“Your favorite. Which did you like the most?” 

“I didn’t like any of them-“ John began, only to be cut off by Arthur scoffing and dropping now to be sitting on his waist. John attempted to buck him off like he was a wild horse, but Arthur was far bigger and, as always, far stronger. Arthur easily scooped up both hands by the wrists and forced them down and above John’s head. 

“Remember this one?” Arthur murmured, grinding himself down on top of John, John whining back. 

“No.” He yipped, only to have Arthur switch his grips around - both wrists being controlled now by one hand while his newly freed one went to John’s jaw and held it straight. He was in a full-on panic.

“I see the way you look at me.” Arthur said quietly, “you always was the obvious one.” 

“I weren’t looking at you,” John said shamed, closing his eyes because he was flushed and didn’t want to give Arthur that amusement he craved. “I swear...” he trailed off, but he knew he was lying at this point. And he knew Arthur knew it, too. 

“You saw this drawing?” Arthur said with a smile as he referenced one of the very first John saw, knees pinching into the younger man as if to elicit a reply back. 

“Yea,” John mumbled back, defeated. Arthur knew he saw so there was no sense in trying to pretend he didn’t. 

“What did you see?” Arthur followed up, looking down at him expectantly. The grip on John’s chin was stern, holding his face in line with Arthur’s. 

“Me. My hands. Tied up. That’s all I remember...” and he was honest. He didn’t see anything else. 

“Tied up with what?” 

“I don’t remember. Didn’t pay attention.” He was still being honest, racking his brain for an answer. 

“It was my belt.” Arthur said, as if disappointed his drawing wasn’t clear enough. John’s heart froze in his chest now, watching as Arthur dropped his hand from John’s jaw and brought his fingers to his own belt to unloop the buckle from his jeans. John was quiet, simply watching in awestruck fear, like a deer caught in the middle of the train tracks leading into Saint Denis. 

John didn’t even fight it as Arthur slid off his leather belt and scooped up his hands delicately, then wrapped the heavy belt around them, securing his palms together before looping the belt through itself and then letting the hands fall carelessly above his head. John knew he wasn’t going anywhere... 

“So what are you going to do to me?” He asked meekly, studying Arthur’s face for any signs of an answer. He couldn’t read the older male if he tried. He was way too good at hiding his thoughts. 

“Whatever I want.” He stated, as if obvious and John swallowed the spit he’d been afraid of choking on. 

“What if Abigail walks in? Or Jack? Dutch would-”

“Dutch ain’t gonna walk in, he’s off with Hosea. Abigail is with Tilly, Jack’s with her. You’re all mine, Johnny-boy.” 

It was like Arthur had all the bases covered. Like he was planning this - John felt dizzy just at the thought.

And then, suddenly, Arthur pressed his lips against the center of his throat and John felt like the world had stopped spinning, his eyes wide and his breath hitched in his chest. 

“I’m… Arthur… what..” was all the younger could manage to pull from his foggy mind. 

“Mister Morgan.” Arthur corrected, lips still against his neck and the words vibrating against his skin. 

“Mister Morgan.” John echoed back, quietly and without much confidence. He tried struggling again, moving to lift his arms and arch his back off the mattress, causing Arthur to growl and shove him back down, hard. Real hard. 

“Don’t you move, boy.” He threatened and John swore he felt all the blood in his body suddenly head south. 

Arthur smirked from above him, sitting up now in John’s lap, taking a moment to unbutton his shirt and slip down the suspenders from the peaks of his shoulders. John remained silent, simply watching in amazement of what was happening above him. He could’ve sworn from all the months of torment that he was doomed to an eternity of hatred from Arthur. He deserved it for leaving for a year. Making everyone think he’d died. Abandoning Abigail. Jack. Arthur. Everyone. All because he wasn’t ready to grow up. 

John was yanked from his thoughts moments later as Arthur began aggressively pulling the younger’s shirt up and over his chest. He stopped at his face, however, and folded the shirt over, John now panicking when he couldn’t see anything. He began squirming, desperate to get the shirt away from his eyes. He was tangled up in it, hands still tied and above his head. 

“Stop!” Arthur growled and that was all it took for John to freeze. “Good boy.” He followed up, a tone to his voice that John couldn’t quite decipher. 

He could feel pressure now, the grinding and friction of Arthur’s groin against his own, and a small moan actually slipped passed his lips. And then he felt hands roaming down - down his stomach and to his hips, thumbs pressing in deep against the skin, feeling the bone beneath them. “Ah…” John’s voice was raspier than usual, heavy with desire. 

“Quiet or I’ll gag you.” Arthur replied back and John nodded in silence, eyes closing since his vision was entirely useless. He allowed himself to just feel everything. Hands were now pulling down his pants, taking off his belt, digging into his waistband… he felt it all. Arthur’s skin was rough against his own, completely different than Abigail’s. And yet, he didn’t mind. He had secretly dreamed of this in the past, and now he was comparing every detail to the thoughts in his head of what he once expected this to be. 

John instinctively lifted his hips up for Arthur as the older man finished dragging everything down to his ankles, temporarily leaving John cold and exposed. He knew he was naked now, felt the air stinging his flesh… but Arthur was quiet. What was he doing? Was he even looking? It felt like an eternity of nothingness until Arthur finally burst the bubble and wrapped a strong hand around his shaft. John whined, heels kicking into the mattress.

“Oh fuck.” He moaned into the shirt, words muffled and nearly lost. But not quiet enough for Arthur to not hear, the man finding John’s facial impression quite easily from underneath his shirt and slapping him across the face. John moaned again, the hot sting only turning him on further. 

“You’re gonna learn real quick.” Arthur grumbled, now beginning to stroke him in a slow, almost painful rhythm. “This is what happens when you go through things that don’t belong to you, John.” He taunted, as if this was supposed to be a punishment. John was rather enjoying himself, now, however. 

Arthur’s strokes got faster and John had begun panting, wanting to feel even more than he already was. He pressed his body up against the calloused hands, as if silently begging Arthur. Arthur knew exactly what John was letting on, the older man biting at his lip as he glanced around the tent. Searching for something. His hand suddenly abandoned John and the younger whined out at the loss of contact, his erection already aching. “Stay here. Don’t move.” He bellowed out, pulling back to undress himself, first removing his shirt and then getting up to remove his pants and his underwear. He then went to search for John’s satchel, John able to hear the rummaging. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest, body completely electrified from the touch, nerve endings raw already. 

“This’ll do.” He heard the quiet affirmation from Arthur and his face grew hot knowing exactly what he’d found and what he was planning to do. John didn’t have to see to know Arthur had found a container of gun oil and had intentions of using it. He could just tell. 

“Up, boy,” Arthur demanded now, John unable to do anything more than rock forward on his back in attempts to follow as commanded. But when he was going too slow for Arthur’s liking, the older of the two roughly grasped at his waist, lifted him up, and then flipped him over and shoved him back down hard, this time with his face and knees dug into the mattress, hands behind his back achingly and thighs trembling. 

John attempted to lift his head to adjust himself but quickly was pressed back down, groaning out loudly as Arthur’s palm pressed his shirt-hidden face back down into the mattress. At the back of his head, he wished it was the dirt and not a sheet covered bed. He lifted his head again, just for the reaction, and this time was met with a firm, stinging slap to his ass. It was enough to throw him off balance, John smashing his own face into the mattress this time without any interference from Arthur. He moaned out, feeling the pressure against his nose, now drooling onto his shirt, waiting for Arthur’s touch. He could hear the sound of the container being opened and he sucked in a breath because he knew what was going on. 

Arthur expertly coated his fingers in the gun oil, wanting to waste no time at all. The moment he had enough of the substance on his digits, he immediately pressed a single finger up against John’s rim, the younger man gasping out quietly. As soon as Arthur’s finger began to push in, John took the excess shirt material into his mouth and bit down with his teeth, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head at the foreign sensation. It was so odd, so wrong, and so filthy that John felt himself being turned on more and more. After a moment of stillness on Arthur’s part, as if waiting for John’s body to adjust, the older began pressing the digit in further, all the way until his knuckle hit flesh, and then he pulled out, repeating this until he felt less friction and less resistance from John. 

Just as John was getting used to this, Arthur elected for another finger and began to scissor his index and middle deeply into John, the long-haired man crying out into his shirt and kicking his feet down into the bed. 

He liked that there was silence between the two of them - John was never quite the best with words, despite his efforts. He liked being able to hear what was happening as well, the sound of slick flesh and Arthur’s ever subtle, but audible, moans. He liked that he didn’t need to see to know Arthur was enjoying himself with his body. 

Arthur had picked up the pace now, partially for his own enjoyment, watching intently as his two fingers slid back and forth to the knuckle, curling the digits into John and making the other man gasp out and clench around him. He’d never felt anything like it. The more he pumped his fingers inside of John, the harder he felt himself get. He’d been doing his best to ignore it, but he was beginning to feel desperate. 

Arthur slipped his fingers out now, the sudden absence making John groan. He reached around to John’s face, finding the hem of the shirt and lifting it up to pull it off and over his head. John breathed in deeply, face flush from the trapped heat and long hair tangled up, parts of his bangs damp with sweat and pressed to his forehead. He looked an absolute mess, Arthur moaning at the sight. He was going to have his way with him - there was no stopping him. He felt ravenous. 

The older took the shirt now, opting to roll it up and then held it out to John’s mouth. “Bite. You’re gonna need it.” He warned, and John took the shirt like it was a gift, accepting the fabric into his mouth and sinking his teeth right into it. He didn’t even care. He felt like an animal and he fucking loved it.

John looked back, eyes wide, as he watched Arthur take the excess gun oil from the container and spread it out along his shaft, rubbing it in with a few, small strokes, thumb circling the slit at his tip and John swallowing hard. He’d seen Arthur naked before - the men had lived camp to camp for years and he’d seen everything at this point. But he’d never seen him like that and it made his lower stomach pool with heat. 

Arthur knew John had no use of his hands with the way they were tied up, so he wrapped a firm arm around John, going under him and lifting him up at the waist to better line him up, the darker-haired man groaning into the shirt when he suddenly felt Arthur’s engorged tip press up against his thigh. He was obviously teasing, rubbing the head back and forth up the backs of John’s thighs, the warm and sticky liquid that had already begun to form now dripping down his skin. His own cock had begun doing the same and John could already tell he’d have to scrub the sheets down before Abigail returned. 

“Arthur…” John tried to say, but the words were swallowed by the shirt fabric, and he knew Arthur didn’t want to hear him anyway. 

Arthur brought his free hand down to grip at his shaft and lined himself up with John’s entrance, eyes glancing around at John’s face momentarily, and then without much more warning, he began pressing himself inside. Both men immediately groaned out, practically in unison, as Arthur pushed his hips forward, each inch of his shaft slowly slipping into John’s heat.

“Fuck,” Arthur murmured now, his toes curling and knees aching as he kept moving himself forward, deeper… he wanted to feel every part of John. Every fucking part. 

“It’s so tight,” John whined out, saliva no longer catching in the shirt and now drooling down the side of his chin. He wasn’t sure if his words were even understandable to Arthur, but he didn’t care.

“Told you to be quiet, boy,” Arthur reminded him, growling and pushing himself in harder now until he’d settled fully inside of John, his thighs pressed flat against John’s ass. 

John let out a strangled cry, the pressure inside of him aching and causing him to contort in Arthur’s grasps. 

The older man couldn’t even think straight, bending forward to let his face rest against John’s back, John’s fingers blindly finding Arthur’s hair and gripping gently at the strands he could manage to grasp. The two stayed this way for a moment, both adjusting to the intense sensation - and John was rather grateful because he knew he wouldn’t be able to immediately handle what Arthur had in mind. 

With a shudder, Arthur began to finally move, sitting himself back up and slowly pulling himself out, getting about half way before he thrusted back in. John felt himself rocking forward in time with the motions without much effort on his own part thanks to Arthur’s guiding arm holding him up still. All he could think about was how thankful he was that Arthur bothered to use the gun oil because he swore he wouldn’t of been able to take this without it. Arthur felt so huge inside of him, like he was being stretched beyond his limits. Limits he’d never tested before… and he quietly wondered if Arthur had ever done this before. 

It took a few small thrusts before the motions became more consistent and fluid - Arthur could tell John had eased up, though he was still just as tight and clamping around him like a vice grip. The pleasure would spike every single time their thighs went flush together, both moaning in unison. 

“Ah…” John hissed out as Arthur began to pump himself into him faster and harder, the shirt finally falling out of his mouth, the fabric a sopping mess of spit. The two definitely had no care for what was happening outside of the camp, John audibly grunting and groaning with each thrust. Arthur made no attempts to shut him up anymore, either, partially due to the fact that he couldn’t stop making noises himself. They had no clue if people could hear them, and part of John felt a knot of pleasure in his belly just thinking of Dutch walking in on them. 

“You feel so fucking good.” Arthur sighed out now, arm moving from John’s waist to place a firm hand on his hip, the other hand going to John’s hair and taking a large lock of it and pulling back. John felt a lot like a wild horse being broken in - the grip on his hair holding his head back taut while the hand on his hip controlled his every movement. He couldn’t get away, even if he tried. He felt himself blush at Arthur’s acknowledgement, like he was doing something right. Pleasing him for once. 

“So do you.” John murmured back, voice gruff and laced with desire as Arthur began to fuck him hard. Each thrust became harder than the last, a very loud sound of skin slapping against skin accompanying each one. John wished he had his hands free so that he could reach around to stroke himself in time with the thrusts, but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed and he’d just have to endure the ache building up instead. 

However, it was as if the older man could read his mind and knew exactly what he wanted. Arthur suddenly let his hair go free, John’s head snapping forward while the same hand dipped around to take a firm hold of his cock now, stroking John in the exact way he’d so desperately been needing. Arthur was so good at it that all John could think about was the strong hand holding him and how much better of a job he did than he could do for himself. None of this made sense. All of it felt like a dream; how was this even happening? 

“Little Johnny Marston.” Arthur cooed out, John’s face immediately going flush. Those three words… words he always heard and hated… suddenly felt so different to him. They made him feel pathetically helpless, but in a dirty and strange way that made his heart pound excitedly in his chest and his stomach clench from the pleasure. Like he belonged to Arthur. Like he was his property. He didn’t want Arthur to stop. He didn’t want anyone else to call him that. Those words were for him, and him alone. 

“Y-Yes, Mister Morgan…?” John answered back, eliciting a moan of amusement from Arthur and earning him a slap to his ass that made John reel in pleasure. 

“Tell me how much you love my cock inside you.” Arthur ordered, though John really didn’t need to think it over at all. He was embracing it now, each thrust into him turning him more and more obedient. He liked being used like this. 

“I… love… your... cock…” the younger gasped out each word between a thrust into him, Arthur hitting that spot deep inside of him that he didn’t even know he had. “Fuck!” He cried out, biting his lip so hard he’d drawn blood. “I’m close….fuck…” He hissed out, not even noticing the tears that had built up in his eyes from the intensity. 

“Me too.” Arthur grunted, stroking John faster to be more in time with his own pace, thrusts beginning to grow sloppy as he became more desperate, vision going in and out of fogginess the more energy he poured into John. He was right on the edge, John’s head resorting to falling back against the mattress, eyes clamped shut as he took the pounding Arthur was giving him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, John…” Arthur sputtered out as he came, the pleasure snapping him like a rubber band, the older male pressing himself as deeply as he could, pouring out into John and making him whine at the sensation. 

Just feeling Arthur’s spent filling him was enough to send him right over with a desperate cry, spilling out all over Arthur’s hand. “Shit,” the younger panted out, feeling Arthur squeeze at his tip as if to get more out of him. 

Arthur was riding off his own pleasure, still thrusting into him while his hand continued to stroke at him, John’s nerves tingling as he had no chance to breathe or even settle. The two of them were a mess; panting and groaning as they both attempted to come back from their climaxes. Arthur eventually slowed his thrusts, choosing to stay pressed inside of John while he rested his head against John’s back, just laying there and breathing. 

As reality set back in, John could feel the pain returning to his arms as he remembered they were still tied up behind him. He had his face resting against the mattress, the tears still streaming down his face and the saliva still all over his chin. He felt so spent, his lungs aching for more air. 

Arthur was silent, finally slipping out of John, the younger sighing out. After a dazed moment, Arthur finally went to remove his belt from John’s hands, letting them fall freely once again and John immediately collapsed onto his belly, aching. He could hear Arthur wiping his hand off on a nearby article of clothing. 

John could already tell he wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Maybe not even right now. He closed his eyes, trying to process everything that had just happened. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Arthur broke the silence, now plopping his body down beside John’s, facing each other. Arthur waited until John had lifted his head to look at him before he reached out a hand to carefully wipe away one of the stray tears that remained. 

John blinked quickly, surprised to hear how soft Arthur’s voice was and how gentle his hand had been. “No.” He said simply, wondering what was going through Arthur’s head. It had never occurred to him how beautiful the other man was. He could see all the lines on his face, even the scars on his chin, and yet, he was beautiful. 

“Good.” Arthur sighed, letting the hand fall away and then moving to sit up. John didn’t move, not because he didn’t want to, but because it genuinely hurt too much. But he wasn’t going to tell Arthur that. He could handle it. Suddenly, Arthur reached out for his journal that he’d tossed to the corner of the tent, smiling to himself as he opened it up to a new page. He grabbed the pen that was tucked into the binder, looking at John. 

“Do you mind?” He asked, earning a small look of curiosity from John. 

“What are you doing?” The younger asked quietly, trying to roll over but abandoning the idea. 

“I want to draw you.” 

John blushed despite his attempts to conceal it. “I don’t mind.” He mumbled, and then watched as Arthur’s head went down into his journal and he proceeded to draw. 

“This’ll be the start of a new chapter.” The older man said with a smile, making eye contact with John. 

All he could do was smile. Being Little Johnny Marston wasn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my lil story! I would love to write some more if people liked this one enough! Also let me know any feedback you may have. :) and thank you to everyone for all the amazing stories you’ve already written that inspired me to finally make my own!


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